


The Games We Play

by AbbyDebeaupre



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Sexual Fantasy, Stalker role play, warning for dubious consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyDebeaupre/pseuds/AbbyDebeaupre
Summary: Claire has a fantasy, Jamie can't believe he's actually hiding in her closet





	The Games We Play

He waited in the dark in an agony of anticipation. Too late, he realized he forgot water. The closet was getting warm and he could feel drops of sweat springing up between his shoulder blades. 

He’d pressed himself as far back in the closet as he could to ensure the camera and tripod were positioned correctly. A little discomfort was a small price to pay, he tingled in anticipation of the evening he had planned. 

He wanted to capture the exact moment she realized he had been hiding in her closet, watching her, as he had been for days, now ready to act. 

He hoped he’d gotten her schedule right. What if she’d had an unexpected change and was working the night shift instead? It had happened before. He hadn’t heard anything to that effect but, still, he worried. 

An hour ago, after carefully checking to be sure no nosy neighbors were peeping from their windows, he’d helped himself to her spare key, cleverly hidden in a rock in a planter by the door. 

She really shouldn’t make it so easy, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Upon entry, it was clear she’d been gone from home for awhile. 

Adso had greeted him like he hadn’t seen a soul in days, throwing himself all over Jamie, winding figure eights around his feet, purring like a madman. 

Jamie replenished water and food for the wee cheetie. While there was a small risk in doing so, he knew she likely wouldn’t notice-- how many people ever remembered such trivial details? Not her, from what he could tell, she was usually in an exhausted fog when she got home from work.

He could picture her evening routine. He knew its general outlines from following her the past few days and testing his plan. 

It was not the first time he’d helped himself to her spare key. She would come home, throw her keys just there in the wooden bowl on the table by the door. She’d hang her coat on the stand right next to it and reach down and take off her shoes. 

She’d wind her hair in a bun and cross the living area, ignoring the cat who would be plaintively wailing for her attention (and didn’t Jamie know exactly how that cat felt?). She’d slowly strip her clothes off on the way to the bedroom, dumping them in the hamper. Naked, she would walk back to the bathroom, turn on the shower as hot as it would go. 

He noticed that she never closed her bathroom door. He understood that, after all, she thought she was alone.

It had started a week ago when he’d found her spare key under the doormat. 

He let himself in and spent an entire afternoon in the quiet of her flat, content to just surround himself in her world, feeling her sheets on his skin, cuddling with her cat on the sofa. 

He’d slipped out after she’d gone into her shower, leaving her a note. It was rather explicit, letting her know how often he thought of her, how the smell of her on the pillow drove him to indecency, the excessive restraint it took to curb his impulses. 

What must she have thought upon opening it? She’d not breathed a word, told no one. It only set his imagination on fire. 

Five days ago, finding the key resting above the lantern that housed the light by the front door, he had helped himself again. 

This time he’d taken a pair of her panties, leaving her another-- naughtier-- pair in its place. Their bright red color unmistakably obvious in the drawer. 

He left another note telling her exactly how he pictured her wearing his gift and nothing else, the way he’d rasp his teeth teeth on her puckered nipples knowing she wouldn’t be able to hide her body’s response from him. How he ached to pull back the thong with his teeth as he used the tip of his tongue to taste her wetness. 

He promised her he’d come for her soon. She seemed a little jumpier the next day, whiskey eyes furtively checking all around her on her way to work, back over her shoulder, a little reluctant to leave the house, perhaps. He imagined she was even more apprehensive when returning at night. 

It was tempting to come back more often, but he wanted her uncertain, wondering each night whether he’d been there that day or not. The anticipation was teasing them both, he knew.

Three days ago, he’d waited and watched her that night in the shower, capturing an image of her lathering up at a very lucky angle, fingers threaded in her core, an innocent touch yet provocative nonetheless. 

It made him hard each time he looked at it. He was nearly caught that time, he couldn’t make himself leave until it was almost too late. All he wanted to do was fling back the shower door, bend her ass over and pound into her until she jerked helplessly against him, shuddering in her need, as he stroked her to completion. 

Stretched to the breaking point and unable to rid himself of such thoughts, his desire for her inflaming all his senses, he had given in to the temptation. 

It was within the rules, he was allowed to touch himself, the once during the week. True, he had hoped to make it a whole week without giving in; he’d known from the outset it would be a challenge. But, alas, he had been provoked. 

He had come hard in his own shower that night, imagining the slippery feel of the tiles against her hands as she struggled for purchase, hearing her protests- loud at first when he spread her then whimpering in gratitude when she stopped pretending she wasn’t into it, wasn’t just as inflamed as he. He’s arched up into his palm, cried out her name, releasing days of pent up need. 

Yesterday, he left the printed image of her, telling her how he’d spent his evening, promising that the next time he’d not leave her wanting. Was she shocked? Scared? Turned on? Had she guessed tonight was the night? 

Jamie was startled out of his reverie by the sound of the door opening and then closing. His acute hearing, so accustomed to the usual silence in the flat, picked up her voice, softly singing to herself. Her earbuds must be playing music. 

The cat greeting in the hall.

Jamie waited for her to detour to her shower, ten more minutes or so and she’d be done, naked, wrapped in a towel and he’d have her to himself, here in her bedroom. Where he’d been having the most delicious thoughts. He didn’t hear the water turn on. 

Suddenly she was right in front of the closet, back to him, naked, unshowered, hair unbound. Longer than usual, it fell in beautiful waves. He’d not noticed until just now how it’s weight flattened, just a bit, the curls he loved so much. 

Her skin pale white, the freckles that danced on her nose and cheeks absent in the long expanse from neck to high, tight buttocks. She was exquisite. 

His eyes devoured the delicate bones of her, long lean legs, leading straight back to that round wonderful ass. With effort, he moved his mind away from temptations that only frayed his patience. 

He watched as she bent over, he could see her center for just a peep. He scrambled as quietly as he could to turn the camera on. He hoped he’d muted the controls and breathed a sigh of relief when silence greeted the dim pulsing of the red light. 

Then she extracted something from under the bed and was standing again. He moaned as she pulled out the notes he had left her and the picture of herself, together with one he recognized with shock was of him in his own shower, similar in pose to the one of her but his fingers were not splayed in innocence. Aye, well, he felt himself blush a little, as close-ups went, this one was rather flattering. 

Where had it come from? He didn’t remember seeing it before but was oddly touched by the fact that she had wanted it to join her small collection. She clearly had not suspected that he would be here today. Otherwise she surely would not be doing what she was about to do. 

Jamie could not believe it- to be here now, with his camera mounted on a tripod? “Lucky bastard, you live well,” he thought to himself. 

Her bed, with its buttery wooden frame, was perfectly lit by the small lamp on her bedside table and the evening light filtering through the high transom window that ran the length of the headboard. 

He could see a peak of hard nipple as she knelt on the bed, grabbing pillows and arranging them just so. Then she reached for her treasure trove and lay down on her stomach. 

The camera captured her from mid thigh to crown, framing the bed and window beyond. The front of the bed was piled high with the pillows she hadn’t needed under her. Just a few days ago he’d lain his own head there. He remembered the scent, the softness of the fabric. 

He watched her now through the lens. Her ass was dead center in the frame, positioned up high balanced as it was, her core lined up in lovely display. He gasped when she spread herself to straddle the topmost pillow as she arranged her visual aides out in front of her. 

She rocked as she read each note and stared at the pictures. Her tongue licked her top lip as she stared at the picture of him in full arousal. Slow and sensual, she flexed her lower body, clenching and releasing, taking her time with his words, letting the fantasies he had shared with her wash over her body. 

He could not look away, positioned as he was, staring in wonder at what she was doing between her thighs, her slit noticeably wet. He let out a keening gasp as he registered the fact that she was completely shaved. 

It was already impossible to get through a day without thinking of her constantly, her smile, her whiskey eyes, the way she made his cock ache, half hard the instant he thought of her, how she made his heart squeeze and skip. 

While thrilled to capture tonight’s naughtiness on film, he knew it unnecessary. He would remember this, how she looked as she drove herself toward release until the day he died. 

Her breathy sounds grew to eager pants as she continued her thrusts. She flipped the longer of the notes he left over to the other side. Jamie’s own breath hitched as he remembered what he wrote there. 

She moaned out loud and circled the pillow pulling herself deep and around in a powerful series of thrusts. “Oh fuck!” She grunted. Her narrow waist, her trim legs, her buttocks all moving to a rhythm of their own. 

Jamie bit back a moan as he stroked himself through his pants, straining painfully against the fabric. 

God, he felt like a total pervert, nearly masterbating in her closet. 

Sometimes he questioned his own sanity -- what she did to him-- how she pushed him to such reckless actions. 

To bear witness to her in such an unguarded moment was the single most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. 

But, Jesus God! He couldn’t believe that sweet lass wasn’t grinding on him, and instead he had consigned himself to the sidelines watching her writhe against her pillow. 

She needed more too, he could see as she shifted her hand underneath herself. Throwing back her neck, flipping her long hair down her back coming to rest nearly to her last rib as she worked herself harder. A flash of color caught his eye. 

Her fingers, oh Christ! 

She had gotten a manicure-- deep maroon nails peeking in and out of the soft, wet folds of her. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, knew his heart was thumping wildly. Sweat broke out on his forehead. 

She looked like the quintessential girl next door except for the siren nails. He had never seen her fingernails painted. He was unexpectedly turned on by it. He knew scores of women to whom nail polish was a religion, but never from Claire, so feminine, impractical. He pictured them wrapped around his cock, how the red would pulse as she ground her thumb across his slit. How would they look, teasing his ass? He let out a Gaelic curse which luckily she didn’t hear. 

Was it him? Had his relentless stalking of her, this long, torturous slow game he’d played with her pushed her to shave her pussy and paint her fingernails? 

Jamie was going to lose his fucking mind. 

He didn’t care anymore about whether this made him a total perv or about being caught; he had to touch himself. 

He ripped his jeans open, popping his flies buttons as he went. He pushed the jeans down, past his knees, he knew he was making too much noise and in a supreme effort of will took the time to slow down, to quietly remove his shoes so he could get completely naked. 

He didn’t question why, only obeyed the need inside himself. He knew he wasn’t supposed to touch himself again so soon, it was against the rules. Though, since it was his rule, he supposed he could find a way to justify changing it as he sighed in relief, rubbing his aching balls and running his hand over his length. 

She’d never looked so enticing. She started making little grunting noises in time with her movements. Fingers dipping and swooping in and out. He could see them pressing circles on her clit, darting down and back. He longed to lick her there, to run his fingers up and inside, twisting into places only he could reach. 

Red nails fluttered and fanned over and over, he could see how wet her fingers were getting, small traces on her pillow. He timed his strokes to hers. He watched her through half-lidded eyes, relaxing into his stroke. 

Suddenly she pulled her fingers from her body and arched up, long neck exposed from the side, breasts off the sheets, hands holding her body weight as she ground against the pillow in earnest, letting out frustrated sounds of distress, not moans of delight. 

She rolled her hips, a different pressure point, rocking harder, groaning. 

It dawned on him that she couldn’t get herself to come. 

No sooner had that thought flitted across his brain than he was on her. 

He heard her scream in real terror, completely disoriented, as he pulled her down from her pillow perch toward his straining cock. He impaled her. 

Both of them cried out in shocked relief as he pinned her into the bed. He lay down on top of her, full length, arms trapping her. She trembled uncontrollably under him. 

He reached his head forward to bite the back of her neck ---not in domination but in reassurance. Then he reared back onto his knees, moving her with him and, holding her hips slammed himself home again. 

“Jesus fuck Claire! Come on my cock!. Scream for me!” Grunting, frantic in his need to spend, desperate to feel her go first. 

Claire couldn’t get her brain to catch up to her body. What had just happened, where had he come from? 

But the feel of him, incredibly hard, the smell, everything about him reeked of visceral need. She heard him chanting and realized she couldn’t understand a word. 

That he had been driven beyond his capacity for rational thought was clear. He was no longer capable of speaking English, moaning and calling to her in Gaelic. 

The combination of being on edge for the last week as he teased her, stalked her, left her notes and gifts that made her unbearably hot, had her edging all week, tense with need. 

Not feeling like herself at all, she’d allowed Gellis to talk her into taking a half day off work and enjoying the rare treat of a two-for-one day at the spa. She’d gotten a manicure, usually not practical if she wanted to be taken seriously as a doctor. 

She’s also let herself be talked into a hot wax for the first time in her life. It left her feeling all kinds of dirty and all she knew was she had to get home and put herself out of her misery. 

She had tried so hard to hold off and make it the full week, until yesterday she’d wondered if Jamie had been able to do the same. Knowing that he hadn’t been able to make it made it easier for her to justify giving in. 

Though, in truth, feeling her naked center rubbing against her panties, imagining how her fingernails would look against Jamie’s skin had her so worked up she didn’t care if she had a good excuse or not. 

Damn this new game they were playing, which had her feeling both violated and desperate to be taken. 

She thought she was going to have a heart attack as the corner of her eye registered the half crazed naked Scot bursting from her closet. 

The feel of him, his teeth against her neck, bound tight, held immobile, completely helpless and one hundred percent safe. She’d craved his warmth, his touch, his smile far more than she had been able to admit to herself. 

She’d had no idea he was there at all. She wondered for a second if she should be upset about it but was too grateful for his presence to care. Then all rational thought ceased. 

Her need for release quickly replaced the adrenalin rush of his sudden appearance. She was so wet, pulsating against the incredible fullness that split her to her core had her clenching down on him before he’d even pulled back his first stroke. 

She heard herself sobbing in relief. He was exactly what she needed and she bowed her back a bit more to draw him in once more thinking only, “Thank God! Thank God!” 

His body stroked her, plunging her clit against the pillow at the precise angle that had been eluding her and she let go, a full voiced scream ripped from her soul as she shook. 

He pulled out and slammed home again, sending her into another wracking spasm. Incoherent sounds forced from her body. Each time he drove himself into her, she convulsed again. Never had she come like this. 

She fought to stay grounded in the present but felt consciousness slipping. 

Her abs contracted as her inner walls squeezed.

Jamie came with a roar, filling her, pulsing repeatedly. 

Breathless, silently screaming, she felt herself clamp on his cock as another orgasm raced through her. White hot light exploded behind her eyes. 

He felt her whole body release. 

Jamie felt her sliding away from him, away from this world, he tried to hold on to her, tried to keep her with him, never wanted to be apart from her, needed her with him always. 

He felt tears gather in his eyes, but held on, shuddering. 

It was primitive, raw and he knew the camera had captured everything, everything including his helpless vulnerability. 

His last thought as he followed her down was to wonder whether he thought it a good thing or not to have such a sacred moment caught, trapped, frozen forever in time.


End file.
